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“I don’t think so. I think you will soon discover that love is overrated, especially when the sex is deeply satisfying.”
She flushed and her jaw firmed.
“Or perhaps you’ve never enjoyed sex—”
“That’s enough,” she choked. “Nothing about this conversation is appropriate.”
“How are we to make love if we can’t even discuss it?”
“We’re not going to make love, or get married. I have agreed to a pretend engagement. That is all.”
She was so flustered, her cheeks were dark pink, her voice breathless. He didn’t think she was faking it, either. Rachel was a different species of woman, and it made him wonder, if she was this emotional and sensitive at the breakfast table, what would she be like in his bed?
The thought made him hard, and a little impatient. He pushed the papers back toward her. “Then what do we do? Have photographers chase you every day? Lie in wait for you and Michael as you run errands? The life you once had is gone, Rachel. This is your life now.”
She said nothing, her chin jutting in displeasure.
He could change that expression with a kiss. He was tempted, too, but first, he needed to explain something. She needed to understand his concerns.
Gio searched through the papers until he found the one that had reprinted the photo of her carrying Michael to the doors of the palazzo. The photographer had zoomed in on the baby, taken a close-up of him wrapped in the blanket. The headline was simple. It read, The Billionaire’s Baby, but it was enough.
The one photo, coupled with the three words, summed up the dangerous situation Rachel had unwittingly created. Michael was a story, a fascinating story, and people wanted a piece of it. Of him.
Gio placed the Italian paper on top of the English one. He tapped the photo as he read the headline to her, translating it from Italian to English. She looked at him, dark arching brows drawn.
“My grandfather Marcello had an older brother,” Gio told her quietly. “He was kidnapped during an outing, taken right from the arms of his mother during a morning walk. The kidnappers demanded a million dollars. My great-grandparents paid the ransom. Their fourteen-month-old was returned to them, in a box.”
“Dead?” she whispered.
He nodded. “It was a sensational story, and the three men were eventually arrested, tried and found guilty. But it didn’t bring back the child. My grandfather grew up aware that he was the replacement, and equally aware that his birth did nothing to assuage his mother’s grief. Money does not always solve problems. Wealth can make one a target. I do not want Michael vulnerable, and yet you, cara, have made him so.”
Gio could see the effect of his words. Rachel paled and grew still. He almost regretted putting the blame on her shoulders, but she had to understand, the world he inhabited was not like hers. His world was one of power and prestige, but also envy and greed. People could be dangerous. Gio had to protect Michael—and Rachel—from those that would try to destroy them.
The breakfast room was unbearably quiet.
Heartsick, Rachel felt hot and then cold, her stomach plummeting. Last night as she’d paced with the baby, she’d thought about money, and how important it was for her to feel stable and secure. She’d never considered the flip side, and how having a great deal of money could become a trap. “I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it. “I’m sorry to have brought Michael to the world’s attention. It makes me sick—”
“We just need to be careful from now on. We need to make sure he has the right people around him and be sure he’s not exposed to danger.”
She nodded jerkily, eyes gritty, trying to wrap her head around Michael’s future. He would forever be an heir now: the boy who’d inherit a fortune. It wasn’t the life she’d wanted for him. She hadn’t wanted to change his life, just improve it. “I wish I could go back... I wish I’d known.”
“What’s done is done. Now we need to make the best of it.”
“But won’t a party here invite trouble into your home?”
“I have already vetted the guest list, and there will be security, a great deal of it.”
She said nothing and he pressed on.
“The party will be on Saturday, next week. We’ll host the event in the grand ballroom. With the invitations going out in today’s mail, it will keep the ball from looking like a rushed affair.”
“A ball? Not a cocktail party? Something simple?”
“It’s impossible to host anything in a seventeenth-century ballroom without it looking like a major event. Besides, everyone likes to dance.”
“But I don’t see how an engagement ball will solve any of our problems!”
“It will add legitimacy to our relationship, publicly solidifying us as a couple. People will enjoy helping us celebrate our commitment to each other and Michael.”
